Phoenix, Basilisk, and Dragon
by runick4
Summary: AU Harry has been abused for most of his life. Hogwarts isn't much better, no one really cares about him,. Ron thinks Harry is the heir. Harry goes after Ginny alone. After facing the Basilisk and Riddle, he is dying. Fawkes starts to heal him, but he does not want to survive. He begs Fawkes to let him die, and instead, he gets a new life in a new world. WIP
1. Prologue

**AN:**This is a remake of After Death, except in this version, Harry (known as Storm in the now discontinued story) is not an all powerful elemental. Instead, I decided to focus, as many creature fictions do, on the Basilisk and Fawkes in the chamber of secrets. As for what abilities he has, those will be explained later, as I am not sure of what I want him to have and how balanced his abilities would be. Anyway, for now, here is the prologue:

Just a warning, its pretty morbid for a first chapter, but later chapters (when I get to them) will be a bit more upbeat.

Prologue: Its Ok Fawkes, I'm ready to die anyway

Harry was clutching at his arm in pain, the dead Basilisk crumpled at his feet and the diary of Tom Riddle destroyed. But Ginny was still unconscious, unable to leave and get help, while Harry was left on the floor barely able to see beyond his swimming eyes, let alone be able to move. _At least my death means something._ He thought rather depressingly, considering how worthless he truly was, it was a magnificent death. Not that Vernon would care, he'd actually be a bit disappointed to loose his whipping boy. Harry shuddered not in pain of the poison quickly spreading through his veins like ice, but of the beatings and cruel slurs that he had endured throughout his childhood. He had thought that his friends had cared for him, But Ron believed him to be a monster, a parselmouth, dark wizard, _freak_. It really didn't matter to him anymore. Hermione was petrified, she couldn't feel anything either way.

He alone had saved Ginny, Ron had not believed him when he said he had nothing to do with Slytherin's monster, he and the rest of Gryffindor had lost all hope of seeing Ginny again. Harry was giving back that hope, and if it cost him his life, he could not care any less.

_After all, I'll get to meet mum and dad. _The thought of dying actually cheered him in a way, he would no longer be ridiculed, beaten or mocked. He would never have to go for days on end without food and barely enough water to survive. He would never need to hear the jeers and taunts of the Slytherins that he pretended not to notice, when they tore him up inside. He would never have to deal with the stares, the whispered comments that he tried not to hear but could help to anyway. It hurt him, being the focus of attention like that yet having no one truly know him, no one actually care for him, as a person, rather than the celebrity that brought down their dark lord. He was nothing to them but a figure they could either hate or adore, and that was something no one should have to live with.

He heard a musical trill, and blearily, he tried to look around, but he felt sooo tired. The ice was settling through him, and even as the Headmaster's phoenix began to cry on him, he was certain that it was too late, that he was going to die, that he wanted to die.

Harry gasped at the sensation of fire in his veins, fighting with the ice but neither winning or losing. He screamed through closed lips as he felt the fire spreading through his entire body. _No._ he thought weakly. _Let me die. _He tried to open his mouth to speak, to beg for the Phoenix to just let him die his death, to let him have his peace. Fawkes looked at him, seeming genuinely sad that Harry did not want to live. The fire seemed to stop, holding the ice at bay for now, but Harry could feel the ice slowly regaining its lost ground. He would be dead within minutes. He would be free.

_Why child, do you want to die?_ He heard the voice in his head, musical and soothing, yet feeling of great and ancient power. Somehow he knew it was Fawkes, and yet he felt no surprise, no fear, nothing really mattered any more now that he was dead. Yet the phoenix stood there perched on his leg as if it expected an answer. He could still not open his mouth to speak, it felt as if the muscles refused to listen to him.

_There is nothing for me to go back to in this world, all that is left for me is pain and loneliness. _He thought, not sure if it would work, but he really had nothing to loose by trying to speak.

Fawkes crooned softly, a soothing sound that dulled the pain even more, and Harry felt a flash of contentment run through him, but in a moment it was gone again

He trembled as the poison began to spread faster, looking at the phoenix that seemed to be regarding him with critical eyes.

_But do you really wish to die? Do you really wish to end your existence so young, when you have so much time left in your life? _Fawkes finally replied.

Harry grimaced as the arm that had been bitten began to turn black, the healthy skin turning necrotic under the influence of the basilisk's venom.

_All that I have….to look forward to….in this life….is pain. _He managed to get out, feeling the slowing of his heartbeat as it too began to succumb to the venom. He had a minute at most.

_And if you could live in a different life, free of this pain, would you take it? _The phoenix persisted, though Harry did not know why it mattered now. He was just going to die anyway.

_If I could have a life I would enjoy, one where someone actually cared for me, for _**_me,_**_ then yes, I would love to live a life like that._

_So be it._ The phoenix said as he lifted Harry's limp body into the air, a sphere of fire surrounding the both of them that Harry could barely feel the heat of, his vision was dimming and he was beginning to think nothing would happen when the sensation of fire filled his veins once more. This time, the venom and fire did not seem to fight. Instead they twisted around the other, tighter and tighter until all Harry could feel was the energy left behind. It swelled inside him, moving faster and faster until it seemed as if his entire body was glowing with the energy.

He was barely able to track Fawkes as he flew around him in circles, streams of energy weaving around his glowing body like a cocoon. He felt the energy tightening around him, his body giving way, but there was no pain, no sensation but the energy condensing him into a rounded sphere of light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Harry no longer had eyes, no face, nothing to distinguish him as human, but he could sense the phoenix in front of him, somehow knowing that he was staring into Fawkes' beady eyes.

_Farewell Harry Potter_ was the last thing he heard before a roaring sound seemed to surround him, the sphere of energy that contained him shrinking until it was no longer visible and disappearing with a thunderous crack.

Fawkes drifted slowly to the ground, exhausted from the sending and the effort it took to suppress the child's memories. He had seen the pain, the torment in the young one's life, and knew that if the young one was to do well in his next life, he would need to come to terms with his old one, slowly remembering the things that happened to him instead of being crushed by the horror and pain of his life. Eventually he would remember everything, but it would not cripple him, it would be tempered by the new memories so that he could see that life was not just suffering. This child deserved nothing less. Mistresses Fate had better not give him any less, or he would have to go and have a nice talk with them. One that involved fire and scorching that precious eye of theirs.

Fawkes felt the heat of the burning fly through his veins, and did not resist it. In a flash of flame, he collapsed into his ashes, chirping weakly and falling into an exhausted sleep.

In the corner of the darkened chamber, Ginny Weasley stirred. She looked around, searching for whoever it was that had saved her, and found nothing but a pile of ashes and a dead basilisk with its eyes torn out. She jumped back in fright at the first glance she had at the creature, but once she realized it was truly dead, and she saw the diary with the snake-fang through the center, she sobbed in relief. Tom was gone.

She sat on the floor weakly, trying to remember what happened and occasionally glancing at the pile of ashes that seemed so out of place in the dreary chamber. She was surprised when the little chick poked out its head, and smiled softly at the newborn Fawkes.

She kept on looking around for her savior, but she did not see them, and Fawkes was most obviously not able to tell her anything really, not that he would anyway. The pain that Harry had spoke of had been there for the Phoenix to see, the flashes of memories, beatings, insults, nightmares, that never seemed to truly end for Harry, and Fawkes for the first time in his life had felt true anger and a desire to get back at those that had beaten and abused an innocent child.

Luckily for the young Weasley, Harry had left the entrance to the chamber open, allowing anyone to follow. Ginny would be alone for several hours before a team of specialized ward breakers and top level Aurors made their way down and managed to blast open the door guarding the chamber. They would find her clutching a newborn Fawkes, and ask her where Harry Potter had gone. Dumbledore had known the boy was in the chamber, he had engineered the situation for him to be there, and Ginny was safe, so he must have succeeded. But if he had succeeded, then where had he gone?

The disappearance of Harry Potter would be a tragedy to the British Wizarding World. Many would question Dumbledore, ask how he could not have known that there had been a basilisk in the chamber, and he would eventually loose his position as Headmaster. Later, Lord Voldemort would come back from the dead, recruit his followers and restart his war on the muggles and muggleborn. Many lives would be lost, the people would despair at the loss of their savior, others would curse him for not coming back to save them, but Harry knew nothing of this, nothing of what happened to the Wizarding World after he had for all intents and purposes died. For all he knew at the moment was the feeling of floating in a warm viscous liquid, and the faint sounds of birds singing in the trees above.


	2. Chapt 1: A strange place to find an egg

(**AN: **For those of who read the previous version of this story, I just wanted to let you know that this story is completely different. A lot of people mentioned that my characters were flat and too cheerful, too accepting. I hope to avoid that this time around. For those of you reading this for the first time, never mind.

I hope you guys like it.

Ch1: A strange place to find an egg:

The forest was white.

It was also _really _cold, but Isaac ignored that, using his slightly oversized leather jacket and thick woolen socks over his hands and feet to keep them from freezing.

He could ignore the cold for now, it was a bit numbing, but it was nowhere near enough to worry about getting frostbite. Not yet.

He had left early in the morning, getting up even earlier in order to do his chores, which, unfortunately for him, was about three in the morning, given how early his family normally woke up. He already felt tired from tramping through the snow with his handmade snowshoes. Still, it was better than trying to go through the snow with boots. He wouldn't have been able to go nearly as far if that were the case.

He held the rifle loosely in the grip of his left hand; the right was holding a four inch hunting knife that he used to carve markings into the trees. He hated to admit it, but he had absolutely no sense of direction, and he would only be able to find his way back with the markings, which were carved on the trees just as he passed them, and the worn compass passed down through his father's line.

* * *

He was floating, the world around him limited to only a small space that he could feel his body curled up inside of. Words like _hard, _and _cramped _rang through his consciousness, fuzzy images of a dark space and someone shouting at him.

The images were there, and yet they were not, like a bad dream. Like the one he had when he first arrived, of a room of stone and some unknown sensation consuming him.

Then he moved back to that word. Dream. What was a dream exactly? What was this idea that he _knew_ but at the same time did not know, had not experienced? Why did he feel as if something was missing from him?

He could hear the faint sounds, high and sweet even though they were distorted by the liquid in his prison, and somehow knew that they were birdsong, but did not know what song really was, what birds really were.

Prison. A room. Bars on the windows. a flap left for food to come through the doorway, that same angry voice..

He knew he had never been outside of this cramped space, he was sure of it, he just…came to be, suddenly existed. But why did he see this things in his mind if he had yet to see outside of the hard shell around him? How did he know what a doorway was?

* * *

Isaac froze when he saw the footprints, unmistakably deer. He had been half expecting to not find anything on his trip, which would be disappointing, but manageable. He _wanted_ to show how good he was, good enough that his father and brother would stop leaving him behind on their hunting trips to work in the kitchen with his mother and sister. So what if he was 'only' fourteen? Isaac was more than old enough to go help them with the hunting, he would be glad to take his father's place. If for nothing else, it would relieve his father of the ache in his knees that came from every hunt in the cold.

He sheathed his knife on his hip and quietly checked the rifle to make sure that it was loaded properly. After that he made his way, slowly crunching across the snow and around the bare trees. It was odd how this was his favorite time of year, the season that was the most difficult to live in. But he couldn't help but think it. Even though it was cold, the sight of the snow covered trees all around him was something to behold.

And though he would never admit it, the other reason that he loved the winter so much was that it meant after all the day's work, they would sit together in front of the fireplace and listen to stories and play with a treasured set of playing cards. Those nights were the best, when he felt so close to his family, no matter their faults. Not to mention that those nights were also a good time for him to work on his whittling skills, which if he were not so modest, would admit were very realistic and intricate. Or if he were feeling tired of that, he would spend his time tinkering with old strips of leather.

He had no idea how long he was walking, looking around for whatever deer had created those tracks, but when he saw the young buck he knew it was worth it. Without hesitation, he brought the rifle down with a slight clicking sound. The buck jerked at the sound, and moved just as he was firing, the grip feeling odd through the wool surrounding his pointer finger.

Isaac cursed when the shot only managed to hit it in the leg, and the deer took off running with a limp. It was not going to be fun catching up to it now.

He shielded his eyes to look up, and was not happy to realize that there was a storm forming, and judging by the clouds, there was going to be a nasty blizzard in several hours. He sighed as he looked at the direction the deer had gone in, then started to chase after it, noticing that the bullet must have hit an artery with all the blood that was being left in the snow. He reassessed his original thought. With the deer bleeding like that, it would collapse from blood loss within an hour at most, and then he would be able to kill it and bring it home to show his father that he could join in on the hunts. Unless something else got to it first.

He nodded resolutely to himself, pushing his legs as much as he could while fumbling with the rifle to reload it. He idly wondered if it would be easier to hunt with the bows and arrows that he had heard of in his father's stories of the ancient battles of their ancestors against their English oppressors. It sure would be quieter than using a rifle, which scared away all the game.

His father's grandfather was the one that had made the decision to move his family to central England, though he had obviously not thought about the discrimination against the Irish that was still rampant in England. Even now, people sneered at the sight of their family, not thinking that their crops were worth as much as those of the 'True English' farmers simply because their family was not originally from England. Not all of the people in the village center of Shrewsbury were like that, but it was still enough that he hated going into town to sell their crops. He hated feeling inferior.

The only thing that he did like about going to town was a small keepsakes shop that he was able to sell his best whittling attempts for a bit of money. It wasn't much, but when he saved enough he would celebrate by buying one of the more used copies of books on dragons.

His family thought him insane, buying books that he could barely read, but he didn't care. He could understand well enough, he just couldn't read that fast. And the subject was one that had fascinated him since he was a child.

His brother August did not share the same sentiment. He was a full six years older than Isaac, and when Isaac had been but a newborn, his brother had been attacked by a rogue dragon (which if he had to guess by the descriptions would be a Grey Widowmaker, something incredibly rare). It had lifted him up into the air by the ankle, and it had only been a well aimed shot from Charles, his father, that saved August from being dragon food. He had managed to pierce the dragon's wing, and then switched to a hunting shot-gun to drive the beast off. August still walked with a limp from that incident, something that would haunt him the rest of his life. With their family's low standing in the village, and the disability(as seen in their eyes) of a bad leg, it would be very difficult for him to find a prospective wife, even more so than it had been for their father.

Isaac's thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous cracking sound, and a harsh flash of light that seemed to be red in color. Instinctively, he covered his eyes, but by then it was too late and his retinas were slightly burned. He stood still, rubbing the spots from his eyes furiously. When he could finally see again, he looked in the direction of the blood, then in the direction that he thought the flash had been. With a sigh, he went in the direction of the flash. Damn his insatiable curiosity. He knew that he needed to get the food for his family, but he also _needed_ to know what it was that caused the light. He had to see it, or it would continue to bother him in his mind until he would constantly be thinking about what it could have been.

He walked in the direction of the flash, continuing to mark the trees as he went on. He listened for any other sounds, but there were none, the forest seemed eerily silent, even more so than normal. He started when he realized that there was no wind, no breeze, everything was completely still, like time itself had frozen. Even the birds that had been singing moments ago made not a single sound.

Repressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, he continued in the direction of the flash, which according to his compass was north east instead of the east of the blood trail. As he moved closer, he noticed a slight glow in the trees, like a dim lantern. except it was a pale yellow-white. Off to his left there was a small cave, it looked empty, and he was certain that he would have heard warning growls of some kind if there were wolves currently living in it. He gratefully dropped off his pack, rubbing his hands together to try and warm them up, then grabbed his gun and walked out of the cave again, making sure to mark the trees as he continued towards the glow.

The closer he got, the more eerie the whole scene seemed. The wind was still silent, and there was no sign of any animals, like the flash had completely terrified them. The birds had started to sing again, but it wasn't the same, cautious somehow, wary.

Maybe he should be more afraid to go towards the flash, but that fear was overpowered by the need to see what had caused it. His father was right about that at least. His need to see what was happening could very well kill him one of these days.

The glow was growing stronger, not enough to hurt his eyes, but enough to make him uncomfortable. He was also getting a bit annoyed, he had been walking for what felt like hours now, marking the trees and watching the slowly darkening sky. The more rational side of him said to turn back, to find shelter, but there was no wind yet, no snowfall.

Finally, he reached a small clearing, where the glow seemed far more intense, the light bouncing off the snow and hurting his eyes. He squinted, and moved closer, hearing the crunching of his snowshoes grow weaker and weaker until he felt more than heard the solid ground beneath him. Bending down, he realized that the snow was gone, and the earth under it had been scorched as if by a terrible fire. He looked toward the center of the clearing, excitement bleeding through him, and gasped when he saw it.

It couldn't be…he thought. But unless his eyes were deceiving him, there was a dragon egg laying in the center of the burned clearing.

* * *

He moved slowly towards the egg, wanting to see it, touch it, feel its texture. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around the fact that this was most likely a dragon egg, something that he had always dreamed of finding; an escape from the mundane life he had at the farm. His parents had known of his obsession with dragons, but they had not known why he was so obsessed. It was a dream for him to escape home, to find a place where he was not scorned by the people he knew for the simple reason that his ancestors had once fought against theirs. He had dreamed of having a dragon so that he would be free to fly across the world, to go wherever he pleased and do whatever he wanted.

Then, as he brought his hand forward to touch the mottled green-brown egg, his mind was dragged back to reality.

England was at war with France, with Napoleon, and the Admiralty offered hefty rewards for any dragon eggs that were captured from the French. He was certain that if he gave the egg to them, they could pay his family a great deal of money, enough to ensure that they would never have to go a winter with little food, hell, enough to not worry about buying food for the rest of their lives. It would be the right thing to do.

He sighed, then went to pick up the egg. If he couldn't hunt for his family, he could at least give them a way to survive. Then he realized how foolish it would be to carry and egg about two thirds his size, and shrugged off his jacket and trying to ignore the cold that immediately seemed to seep into his skin, placed it on the ground.

Gingerly, he reached out to the egg and grasped it, gasping at the warm sensation creeping into his fingers. The egg was burning hot, and hard and leathery. The heat was something he didn't remember reading about, but a trickle of dread curled in his stomach when he realized what the harness of the egg meant. It was about to hatch.

He took a look around, searching for the signs that there was some kind of mother or other parental figure for the unborn dragonet, and could find none. There was only scorched earth, no snow and no footprints like those that he would expect of a mature dragon. There was nothing and no-one to protect the egg. He would have to take it.

* * *

Isaac sighed in relief when he finally made it back to the cave, carrying the egg in his hands now that he was no longer in the snow. It had not been fun dragging the thing through the snow, even more so when the wind had suddenly started to pick up after he had secured the egg. He did believe in god, but he had never seen something that he would have deemed supernatural until that moment. It was like the egg had been holding back the elements before he touched it, and then as soon as he had wrapped it up in his coat and started to move back in the direction of the cave, in the direction of home, the wind came out of nowhere, nearly bowling him over.

He gingerly placed the egg on the earthen floor, not wanting to disturb the unborn dragonet, and breathed on his hands, which were still freezing despite the thick woolen socks he had been wearing all this time. The wind was starting to pick up outside of the cave, and he knew that it was far too late to try and get home through the storm. It was just so cold!

Shivering, he left the egg with the coat around it, knowing that it needed to stay warm and hoping that however long it had been in the forest(he was pretty sure the egg had arrived at the same time as the flash, the other events that had occurred seemed to show this) had not been long enough to damage it. He walked out into the harsh wind, seeing the snow start to fall, and began to gather whatever stray branches he could find on the ground and dragging them into the cave. He used his knife to scrape off the wet outer bark down to the sapwood, and placed them in an improvised fire-pit that was about twenty feet deep into the cave. He was grateful when he found his tinderbox in its normal place in the pack, he had forgotten to check if it had been there before he had left, and about ten minutes later he had a small, but stable fire going, the light reflecting off of the egg's shiny surface.

_The egg._

He carefully moved the egg so that it was near the fire, knowing that he _needed _to keep it warm. Especially when it was so close to hatching.

He felt his blood run cold at the realization that a newly hatched Dragon would most definitely be hungry. He had read about the harnessing process in one of his books, one by a Sir Edward Howe, which had been the most expensive. Dragons were known to go feral if they were not harnessed properly.

He gave a glance at his leather pack, evaluating its size and comparing it to that of what the newly hatched dragon would likely be. He hesitated, then nodded resolutely. Harnessing the dragon and keeping it from going feral was far more important than some leather pack. Even if it had taken a long time to make.

He sighed and emptied his pack. Then he saw the amount of things that it was carrying and stopped. It was a stupid idea. He needed that pack to carry his tools and his tinderbox. How else would he bring them around with him?

So if the pack was out, the left…his jacket.

He really liked that jacket, and his parents would take away his meagre pocket money for the year when he told them that he 'lost' it.

He was under no illusions of what his parents would think of him harnessing a dragon. At best, they would shout at him until his ears bled about his stupidity and how the dragons had nearly taken August away from them and then call someone from the air corps to take it away. At worst…he didn't even want to think about it.

So, for now, he would have to keep the dragon's existence a secret, and take care of it until…

Now that he thought about it, he had no idea. How long would he be taking care of the dragon? What would happen to him because of it? How would he hide it once it got too big? How would he feed it for that matter. How?….

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He was fourteen, almost fifteen, he could deal with this. He could find a way to make things work. For now, all he needed to do was make a harness for the dragonet, and that meant that he needed to take the jacket apart. He would also need some of the twine that his father liked to use for setting traps.

He carefully pried the jacket from around the egg, moving the egg slightly closer to the fire as he did so, then grabbed his knife and set to work, cutting along the seams until the jacket was laid out flat on the ground.

From what he remembered, there needed to be holes for the neck, the legs, and the tail, along with various strips of material to reinforce the harness and make sure it stayed on the dragon's body.

The holes themselves would need to be adjustable, as he had no way of being able to figure out the dragon's proportions beforehand.

Nervously running his hand through his hair, he tried to figure out how exactly this was going to work. His best bet would be to make the harness out of one large piece of leather, and then cut away the parts that were not needed. He took out a small stick that was lying on the ground, tracing it over the large piece of leather. Then he nodded to himself resolutely and took out a small knife from his carving kit.

It was slow going, at first, but he was being careful to move slowly. He did not have any extra material if he made a mistake, so he had to think about every cut that he was going to make before he even came to making it.

The light outside continually darkened as he worked, until it was dark as night. He could hear the wind howling outside, and could smell that fresh tang in the air that meant it was snowing. There was no way that he could go anywhere now, he would be stuck in the cave until the storm passed.

His only light was the fire, and though it was harder to see now, he was still able to work, carefully cutting out the shape he needed for the leather. If it wasn't for the wind and the egg and the cave, he could have imagined that he was sitting in front of the fireplace at home, listening to his father's stories or his mother's lullabies.

Unwittingly he found himself humming a tune, one that he had heard every night until he was nearly twelve and decided that he was far too old for such things. As he continued the humming slowly broke into song.

Over in Killarney

Many years ago,

Me Mither sang a song to me

In tones so sweet and low.

Just a simple little ditty,

In her good ould Irish way,

And l'd give the world if she could sing

That song to me this day.

"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."

Oft in dreams I wander

To that cot again,

I feel her arms a-huggin' me

As when she held me then.

And I hear her voice a -hummin'

To me as in days of yore,

When she used to rock me fast asleep

Outside the cabin door.

"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby." (1)

He opened his eyes, not even realizing that he had closed them when he was singing, and felt himself blush a little, even though there was no-one to even see him sing. According to his sister, Ruth, his voice was like the screech of metal over metal, and even though his mother disclaimed it, he had a hard time believing that his voice was any good. Even if he sounded like a man sentenced to die his mother would tell him that his voice was perfect.

It didn't really matter to him though. Ruth's voice was like metal on metal with cats yowling along.

* * *

A foreign emotion had come over him when he felt his surrounding suddenly lurch, like the whole world was moving upward. He fought against the urge to claw at the sides of the shell around him, something telling him that the time was not right, that he needed to wait. He found himself calming instinctively, even as he felt the strange sensation of being pulled along by _something_.

It had felt like hours before the dragging stopped, and as the world around him finally seemed to rest, he felt a strange pang inside of him, a burning desire for _something_ that he could not identify. He wanted it, but he felt tired, weak. It still wasn't time, not yet.

The sound of a voice…singing he remembered it being called, seemed to surround him entirely, soothing him, the sensation of someone holding him tightly yet gently, being placed into something soft that surrounded him. Red hair and green eyes, but nothing else. It felt safe, and he found himself slipping into another faint dream.

* * *

Issac sighed in relief when he finished putting his impromptu harness together. He had tried to make as close to the designs that he had seen painted in the book, not knowing if they were completely correct or not, but the drawings were all he had for an example, and they made sense.

The body of the harness had been fairly easy to make, it was just a series of straps that were hanging from the left side and would attach to the right side with twine through the rough holes he had created in the material. The holes around the legs, neck, and tail were trickier, but he had done much of the same thing, leaving slits on the inside part of the leg area so that the straps could go around the legs and be adjusted to fit them. The neck and tail were done much the same way.

He wasn't that proud of it; it was crude and rushed, but he didn't have much time nor the materials that he would have normally used to make something, so it was acceptable.

The harness was done, now all he needed to do was find food for the dragonet and he would be ready. The wind was still howling though, and when he took a brief look outside, he could still see the snow coming down furiously. There was no way that he was going to get any food in this weather.

He sighed and headed further back into the cave, where none of the snow could reach, and then he heard a semi-loud thump.

His fingers whitened as he gripped the rifle, pointing toward the dark entrance to the cave and desperately hoping it wasn't wolves. When he saw it, he was stuck in a mixture of disbelief, gratefulness, wariness, and fear.

The young buck he had shot had dropped dead right in front of his cave.

* * *

That pang he had been feeling earlier was quickly growing stronger, and with it the desire to claw and break the shell surrounding him. It was strange. He wanted to fight the urge, to stay in this safe place, yet at the same time wanted to see what was outside of this tiny world that he knew, to know what that voice he had heard was.

It could have been hours that he was sitting in his small prison trying to decide which, or it could have been minutes. But eventually, the pangs and desire to see what was outside of his shell won out, and he began to chip away at the egg in sporadic bursts of energy, they only seemed to last for minutes before he tired, but every single moment that he spent trying to open his egg got him closer to freedom, and that, along with the pang of hunger, was what kept him going.

* * *

The cave had been very quiet for several hours after he had finished the harness, but Isaac refused to relax. The storm was still raging, and he doubted that there were any other animals that were outside in the storm.

Yet, he was wary of other creatures deciding that the cave he had chosen was a good place for shelter, and so he kept the rifle in his lap while watching the entrance to the cave carefully.

The silence had stretched for so long that when he heard the sharp CRACK! behind him, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

The fire was low, barely enough for him to see his hands in front of his face, but he didn't have any more wood, which was the only thing he would have suspected of cracking.

He jumped again when another sharp crack rent the air. What was it? What was going on?

He looked around in the dim light, trying to figure it out, but saw nothing except for the fire and the egg.

His attention jumped back to the egg when it started to rock more noticeably, his gut tensing in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The dragonet was hatching!

The egg rocked even harder, small chirping sounds and growls coming from within as the dragonet struggled to open it.

"Come on." Isaac whispered encouragingly. "You can do it little dragon, come out."

He felt a bit silly doing it, but it seemed to work. The egg had frozen for a moment, only to rock harder and faster, the sound of claws scratching on the inside easy to hear.

Chunks of the eggshell started to fall, the dragonet inside pushing harder and harder. For a second Isaac could swear he saw glowing green eyes in the darkness of the shell.

And then the egg exploded.

Authors note:

(1) An Irish lullaby: www . ireland - information irishmusic / anirishlullaby . shtml just get rid of the spaces

It wasn't until after I wrote this chapter that I realized how similar it was to the scene in Eragon where the egg appears, but I promise that was not my intention.

Also, the way that Harry(now nameless) sees things is what I thought it would be like for a newborn. At this stage, he does have memories of his past life, but they are very faint. For the most part, everything he sees is something new, he knows what things are, he knows the names of them, but he has never truly _seen _them until now. I mentioned this in the prologue, but it was only a sentence or two.

College term is finally over, which is why I finally had enough time to work on this story. I haven't even been able to work on my other story these past few weeks, so I appreciate your patience in how long it takes me to update.

Updated 10/12/12 (I have no idea why fanfiction hasn't shown this)


	3. Chapt 2: What's my name?

Ch2:

Isaac yelped in surprise before throwing himself backwards.

The base of the egg was all that remained after the explosion, a small elongated head that could only belong to a dragon peering out with an emerald gaze.

Isaac's breath caught in his chest; he dared not to move. Newborn dragonets had been known to attack when they first hatched, mostly from the desperate hunger that they often felt upon leaving the shell.

The dragonet made a piteous whining sound, and Isaac, too nervous to do anything otherwise, slowly moved the carcass of the young stag in front of it. Almost immediately, it pounced on the meat with an excited shriek, tearing into the meat with gusto. Isaac held back a grimace as he tried to observe the newborn while it was still distracted.

It was a decent size, about the twice the height of an English pointer and thrice as long. Its scales were a deep glossy black, and looked to be very durable. Like many other dragon breeds, its wings were overly large and unwieldy combated to its body, limp and trailing slightly on the ground. The wings themselves were quite interesting, having five spines per wing. Though he wasn't certain, they seemed to bleed from a shade of black to a dark green at the trailing edge.

The dragonet made a satisfied sound, and as it turned, he refocsed his attention on its head.

"That was good!" it chirped happily, sounding all for the world like a slightly growly child. Isaac had read that the were able to talk like humans, but he had not expected the dragon's speech to sound so…human.

Still, the innocent happiness that seemed to surround the dragonet was contagious. Isaac found himself smiling at the creature. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

If possible, the dragonet looked even happier at that pronouncement, before its attention was immediately grabbed by the low flames flickering in the center of the cave.

"Whats that?" it looked excited, almost as if were about to pounce on the flickering flames.

Amused, he replied. "It is fire."

"Fire." The dragonet repeated. "Fire." It seemed distracted, as if it were trying to remember something, then it shook its head and asked. "What is it?"

"It is fire." Isaac repeated, looking a little confused.

"No, what _is_ it." the newborn put emphasis on the is.

Isaac looked at the dragonet with a puzzled expression. "What is fire?"

It nodded eagerly.

"It is…" he stopped, having no idea on how to answer this question. "I do not know.

"is it like magic?" the dragonet asked innocently, green eyes wide.

Isaac gave it an amused look. "No, it is not magic, but I do admit I do not know what it is.

'Then how do you know it is not magic?" The newborn retorted, looking almost petulant.

"I.." Isaac shook his head. He wasn't about to get into an argument over whether or not magic existed.

Luckily for him, the dragonet seemed to have a _very_ short attention span. "Ooh, what is this!"

He saw that it was now looking at his makeshift harness, and welcomed the change in subject.

"It is a harness."

"What's a harness?"

Inwardly, Isaac sighed. Was this how young children acted towards their parents?

"A harness is something that we put on beasts of burden so that we can ride them."

The dragonet looked at the harness curiously. "What's it for?"

"A harness is used to-"

"Not that silly! What _is_ it for?"

Vaguely annoyed at how confusing its questions were, Isaac answered. "I made it for you."

The dragonet nodded, looking over the harness curiously, before it reared up, indignant. "I'm not a beast!"

Isaac winced a bit. "I did not mean to say that you are not intelligent, but you are not a human and thus you are a beast."

The dragonet looked dreadfully confused. "But I am human." It said. "I'm a boy!"

_Well, that answers that question._ Isaac thought as he resisted running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "You are a young, male_,_ _dragon_."

The dragonet shook its head emphatically. "But I remember looking like you! I had those pink things too!" It-_he-_ nudged his hand and Isaac jerked back reflexively.

Isaac gave him a strange look. "You remember having fingers?" he asked a bit skeptically.

"Of course silly! Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb." the little dragon chirped, its tail lashing playfully.

Isaac was unsure of what to think. The dragonet had just named them all correctly, with no hesitation at all. But how could it have known that? He had found the egg in the middle of the forest, alone. There was no way that it could know what fingers where without seeing them first. He felt his blood run cold as he realized that the egg had been _alone. _At first he had assumed that the flash had been the mother keeping the egg warm with fire, but after going over the details in his mind, he wasn't so sure.

There had been no tracks in the ground from where a dragon would have landed, no signs of bones or meat. It was like the egg had just appeared out of thin air. There had been no-one, not even a human, taking care of it, no-one speaking to it to ensure that the little dragon would be able to converse in English. And yet it was perfectly able to understand him, to speak.

He shook his head. It didn't make any sense at all. The dragonet should not have been able to understand him, yet it could, with the mind of a young child. It was as if the mind of a child had been placed in a dragon's body.

Once again, he shook his head, not wanting to dwell on this and so completely changed the subject. "Anyway, the harness is to show that you and I are companions, Captain and dragon."

"Your name is Captain?"

Isaac barely stopped himself from groaning. Every five seconds there was a question, and when he answered this one there would likely be dozens more.

"No, my name is Isaac."

"Oh…" It mumbled, tilting its head to the side in confusion. "Then why do I call you captain?"

This time, Isaac did groan, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"You call me Captain because that it what dragons call the people that lead them into battle."

"Battle?" The little dragon's eyes grew impossibly round.

Glad for the change in subject, Isaac continued."We are at War with the french, and England needs every dragon it can get a hold of to defend her borders. It is considered an honor to fight for-"

"Are all the dragons called dragon?"

"What?" he asked, completely dumbfounded at the question.

"Are all the dragons called dragon?" it repeated.

"Heavens no!" he exclaimed.

"Then what is my name?"

"I….I do not yet have one for you." Isaac stammered.

"Why not?" Now the dragonet was looking sad, almost tearful.

"I have had no time to think of one for you, give me a moment and I will think of one." he promised hastily, closing his eyes and trying to think of one.

_If I am going to give him a name, I want it to be something that means something to me, something important. But what do I name a dragon? All of them are named for great heroes and soldiers and latin things that I don't know about. What could I possibly name him? _

After a moment, he thought of Alexander the great, then quickly shook his head. Alexander was a human name, and the name of a conqueror really didn't sit well with him.

_Names are sometimes based on the area from where the dragon is from, or where the rider is from. _

He opened his eyes briefly at that thought, and found the dragonet's snout inches from his face, green eyes curious.

He yelped and jumped back, not expecting the dragon to have been so close to him.

"Do you have a name yet?" it asked somewhat impatiently.

"No, no yet…but give me a minute more and I will have one for you, I promise."

It grumbled at him too lowly for him to understand before sighing and nodding.

He closed his eyes again, thinking of where he was from. His first thought was that he was from Britain, that it should be a British name, but that still didn't seem right to him, he could not think of any English names with good meanings. He turned his thoughts to his father's ancestors, his family's ancestors that had lived in the Irish countryside.

There, that was what he wanted, a name that was a link to his family's past. He found his mental eye drifting to a memory of the great family tree, a precious roll of parchment that his father kept locked in a wooden chest for protection. There were many names on there, Aedan(born of fire), Lorcan(silent), Ferdia(man of god), Carrick(rock), but none of them seemed to really fit a dragon that was protecting his home. Aedan was close though, and he really did like the sound of it.

He remembered his ancestor, the same one who had decided that it would be better if his family were to move. His name was Seastnan. He felt a sense of rightness at the word. _Protector._ It was perfect.

He opened his eyes, smiling to himself and half expecting the dragon's face to be inches from his own again.

It was focused on the flames, not paying him the least bit of attention.

"Seastnan." he said the name reverently, quietly as if he were afraid the dragon would not like it.

Almost immediately, the dragnet refocused its attention on him.

"Whats my name?" he asked.

Isaac smiled warmly. "Your name is Seastnan."

The dragonet, newly named, had a strange look on its face as it tried to sound out its name. "Se-eest-nan."

"Se-ayst-nan." Isaac sounded out slowly, an affectionate smile crossing his lips at the first attempt.

"Se-ayst-nan." The newly named dragon tried again. "Se-ayst-nan…Seastnan! My name is Seastnan!"

Without any warning, Seastnan jumped on Isaac and knocked him to the ground, a deep rumbling coming from his chest.

"Oof!" Isaac wheezed as he landed hard on the stone floor, feeling the dragon nuzzle him earnestly as the rumbling increased in volume.

"Thank you Issac!" The dragonet was completely ecstatic at his new name, and failed to notice how uncomfortable Issac seemed trapped under his body.

"You're…welcome ." Isaac coughed a bit as he tried to get some air back into his lungs, then lightly shoved the dragon so that it would get off of him. Seastnan jumped back playfully, tail twitching and eyes narrowed, before dashing away from the boy laying on the ground. Isaac started wondering if all newborns had such sudden changes in mood.

He sat for a moment, trying to fully catch his breath from where it had been knocked out of him, and heard the sound of something being dragged along the ground. He looked up to see Seastnan dragging his makeshift harness by the mouth and depositing it in front of him.

Seastnan took several steps back, then sat on his rump, eyeing him expectantly.

"Er…Seastnan? Why are you giving me this?"

His dragon gave him a look that seemed to scream 'Are you an idiot?'

"So you can put it on me silly!" he exclaimed.

"But-"

"You said that we are companions, that a captain puts it on his dragon to show that they are together." Seastnan began earnestly, then suddenly looked heartbroken."You don't want me?"

Inwardly cursing the dragon's newfound anxiousness, Isaac rushed forward, bringing his arms around Seastnan's neck. "Heavens no Seastnan, I do want you, I just thought that you did not want to wear it at this moment."

"Really?" Seastnan asked, almost sounding suspicious.

"Really!" Isaac insisted. "I never meant for you to think that you are unwanted; I care about you Seastnan!"

"But you just met me." He still sounded meek, unsure. Isaac knew then that he would have to be very careful with what he said in the future, at least until Seastnan had matured somewhat.

"I still cannot help but care for you, you silly dragon." Isaac assured him, being sure to use the same endearing tone as the dragonet had when it had called him the same. He gently stroked the dragonet's neck, marveling at the smoothness of the scales while he was trying to comfort him."You are my dragon, just as I am your captain, and nothing will change that!"

"You promise?"

"With all my heart."he vowed solemnly.

"Ok." the dragonet mumbled, nuzzling his cheek in apology.

"Lets get this harness on you then." Isaac spoke softly, reaching for the pile of leather at his feet.

* * *

"Hold still, I can not put this on if you insist on squirming in such a way!" Isaac struggled to get the strap around Seastnan's middle, the dragonet was squirming at the sensation on his sensitive belly scales.

"Then stop tickling me!" he managed to get out in a mixture of a low growl and a shriek, which Isaac guessed was the equivalent of laughter.

Seastnan, though he was still trying to get away, felt a part of himself relaxing at the sensations, a faint image of looking upward into a kind human face while it tickled him showing in his minds eye.

"I will be done in just a moment if you were to stop moving about." Isaac complained, trying desperately to tie the strap in place, while following Seastnan's somewhat erratic movements. Slowly, he was able to tie the leather strip so that it was not too tight around Seastnan's abdomen.

"There!" He exclaimed before laying on the ground, arms trembling a bit from the effort of tying on the harness while trying to hold down a squirmy dragon.

Seastnan turned around a bit, bending his neck to look at the contraption fastened around his body.

"It feels too tight!" He whined, pulling at one of the straps with his claws.

Isaac immediately sat up and yelled. "No Seastnan!"

The dragonet immediately jumped back as if stuck, whimpering lightly.

Feeling as though he had just kicked a puppy, Isaac apologized. "I am sorry for frightening you Seastnan, but if you kept on scratching you would have snapped the leather with your claws."

"Ok.." the dragon muttered meekly.

Inwardly rolling his eyes at the dragon's meekness, but knowing that it wasn't the dragon's fault, he sighed and got up from the ground to comfort it, wondering how often he was going to have to apologize for scaring or unintentionally hurting his dragon.

"I keep forgetting that you are naught but a newborn." He murmured.

Seastnan rose up, indignant, then saw the smile on his captain's face and relaxed, grumbling.

"I resemble that remark." he muttered.

"What was that?"

Isaac looked dreadfully confused, so Seastnan repeated."I resemble that remark."

Isaac looked at him strangely, then shook his head, looking toward the entrance of the cave; absently he noted that the wind seemed to be quieter than before.

"What is it?" Seastnan asked,following his captain as he walked over to the entrance to the cave.

He stopped in surprise at the strange white substance that was carpeting the ground. That surprise only lasted for a moment though, as he let out a high-pitched shriek that could only be defined as a squeal and leaped headfirst into the snowbank.

Isaac, for the upteenth time, found himself dumbfounded at Seastnan continued to jump and dive between the snowbanks, squealing and laughing. Isaac himself had not done such a thing in years.

Seastnan popped his head out of the snow, eyes dilated with pleasure. "Come on Isaac, jump in! The white stuff is really cold and...and-"

"Powdery?" Isaac supplied.

"Yeah! Powdery!" the dragon jumped into yet another pile of snow, then stopped to look at him questioningly.

"Why aren't you jumping in?"

Isaac shook his head.

"I am not a dragon Seastnan, as much as I wish to join you in the snow, I cannot."

"Why not?" Seastnan whined.

"My clothes are not warm enough for such a thing, and I could get very sick."

"Oh." The dragon looked down sadly, then perked up. "Then why don't you go get them? We can play then!" Seastnan turned wide emerald eyes on him, and Isaac found it very hard to refuse.

He sighed, dread curling into his stomach when he realized what exactly had happened in the past day. He had hatched a dragon that he found into the woods, a dragon that would eventually cause him to leave his home and fight for a country whose people disliked him simply for his ancestry. And because of his brother's lame leg, his parents would not be very accepting, not much at all. He had been putting off thoughts of home when he saved the egg, and now that Seastnan was hatched, he could not imagine not making the same decision. He would have had to face his family at some point, there was no reason to try and put it off when the results would be the same.

"Very well, let me pack my things. Then we can start going home."

Seastnan made an excited squeal, and followed him into the cave, completely unaware of his captain's darkening mood.

* * *

AN

Ok, before people start yelling at me about the pronunciation of his name, I know that it is wrong. My excuse (as bad as it is) is that while Isaac has heard some Gaelic, his primary language is English, and so he is pronouncing it as if it were an English word. If that is not a good enough reason, I could really care less, Its how I am having the characters pronounce it.

I know Seastnan's behavior is a bit strange right now, but as I hinted to in the past chapter, Fawkes suppressed his memories so that he could 'grow up' without all the negatives weighing him down. In this case, because he is so young, his memories are those of when he was a young child, before the Dursley's neglect and abuse really started to kick in. And the fire thing is because the only time that Harry would be really let out of his cupboard would be for his meals, and I doubt that the Dursleys would have explained to him what fire was, he would have had to learn that when he was older.

And I know that it is a little too early for him to be showing his memories, but it is nothing like my last attempt (read: disaster) at this story, where he remembers everything. It is like he remembers little things that he had done during his life, small memories of doing things in school or vague images of his parents. It is more like impressions and fragments of memories than anything else. Still, it is something that makes Isaac both nervous and a bit frightened, which will eventually come up again in the story.


End file.
